


Cocktober 16: Possession AKA What's Mine is Yours is Ours

by Glitter_Bug



Series: Domestic Boys [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Little bit of angst, M/M, Moving House, Slight slight slight reference to homophobia, Swearing, but it's mostly fluff, but more surprise at the lack of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy and Steve escape the pull of Hawkins.They turn a house into a home.There's a peacock.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Domestic Boys [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974355
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 16: Possession AKA What's Mine is Yours is Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy fluffy fluff.  
> Domestic boys being sweethearts and getting to be free.
> 
> You don't need to read Part 1, but you might like to anyway.

It’s easier than Steve expected to drag himself and Billy out of Hawkins, to escape the magnet of the small town, the pull that gets stronger with every year spent there, every opportunity missed or lost or ignored, until you turn around at forty with two kids, a beer gut and a wife you met in high school. And Steve’s gonna miss the kids, and Robin of course, and he gets a little teary when they throw him a goodbye party, but it’s not like he’s going too far away, and he knows that if he stays, they’re all gonna move on without him anyway. He’s gotta take this chance while he has it. Doesn’t know when he’s gonna get another. 

And so he gets out. So does Billy. They escape. 

When Steve pictured it, he imagined them both roaring out in the Camaro, holding hands across the seat and flipping the bird in unison at the ‘You Are Now Leaving Hawkins’ sign. Steve had even started making a mix-tape for the journey, a perfect blend of Queen, Metallica,  Mötley Crüe and Blondie, just enough to lull Billy into a false sense of security before he’s hit with the finest of Steve’s pop tastes- a-Ha, Wham!, Billy  _ fucking _ Joel.

In reality, they have to drive separately. They’re gonna want both of their cars there in Chicago anyway, and Steve’s BMW is absolutely crammed with boxes and suitcases so there’s no way around it. Steve thinks up all sorts of other plans, involving trailers and moving vans and him driving out early then getting a Greyhound back, and Billy gently, but firmly, shoots each one down. Puts his foot down entirely when Steve suggests walkie-talkies because ‘we’re not in goddamn Convoy, Harrington’. Tells him that they’re about to be living together, they can last a five hour journey without each other. 

So they meet early on moving day, Billy roaring his way to Loch Nora so they can at least see each other before they set off, Billy bringing Steve in for a kiss and then they’re off. They stay together to start with, and they do both stick up a middle finger at the sign, but then Billy’s shooting off in front and Steve’s lagging behind, losing sight of him by the first set of traffic lights. 

But at least Steve gets to listen to Uptown Girl without Billy’s usual scorn, and gets to think about his own ‘backstreet guy’ the whole time. Gets to sing all the ‘oh whoa whoas’ without getting a jab to the ribs. 

Steve pulls into a diner about half-way, does a quick scan of the parking lot and lets out a relieved sigh when he sees the Camaro there, parked as far from the building as it can. There’d been no real need for either of them to stop, it’s a short enough drive that Steve’s pretty sure they could’ve made it without the need to pee or eat, but he scheduled it in anyway, made Billy promise to check in with him- a failsafe. And when he parks up next to Billy, Steve’s so glad he did. Because he looks over to see Billy hunched over- his head in his hands, fingers tugging at his blond curls.

Steve’s out of the car like a shot, diving into the passenger side and gently untangling Billy’s fingers from his hair, pulling him close and stroking his own hands through those curls instead, soft and soothing.

Steve knows what it's about.

Knows that, had it just been Neil and Susan left in Hawkins, then Billy wouldn’t be like this. Knows that they’d have made this journey weeks ago, the moment that Steve extended the invitation. Billy jumping at his chance for freedom, for escape. But Billy has Max, and they have a new, fragile bond that he didn’t want to fracture by just upping and leaving. And Steve has always known that there’s been more than just his curfew keeping Billy going back to Cherry Lane, that there were days when it was a certainty that someone in that house was going to get bruises, and Billy wanted to make sure that it was him. 

So Steve had given him all the time he needed to say goodbye, to feel OK about leaving Max behind. Had held him when he shook and shuddered and hated himself for planning on leaving her there, on walking out when she might need him. On doing exactly what his mom did to him. In the end, it’d been Max who’d convinced Billy to go. Had said she’d never forgive him if he didn’t, would never forgive herself if he stuck around and got hurt. Had promised to call him the moment, the second, that she even got a hint that Neil might do anything. 

_ “Don’t you let him touch you, Max. He so much as breathes wrong near you, you get out of that house, you call me and I’ll come, OK? Middle of the fucking night Max, I’ll come. Swear it. You gotta swear it or I won’t leave.” _

Steve had given her pretty much the same speech. Had told Hopper to keep an eye on her. Had told Joyce.

But Steve knows that Billy’s still feeling guilty. Knows that he won’t ever truly relax until either Max or Neil is out of that house. 

So Steve just holds him. Lets him cry in the middle of a mostly empty parking lot, outside some run-down shitty diner halfway to their new life together. Splits an order of fries and a chocolate shake with him when the tears stop, and then they’re on the way again. Billy, once more, miles out in front before Steve’s even got his seatbelt on. Steve wonders if he’s racing towards what lies ahead in Chicago, or just racing away from what he’s been dealing with in Hawkins.

***

Steve arrives at the house to find Billy already there, leaning against the Camaro and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Finally,” he grumbles, “Been waiting ages. You drive like my grandma and she's dead."

Steve rolls his eyes as he gets out of the Beemer, stretching his arms and hearing a satisfying click in his back, "You know you have keys right? Don't tell me you've lost Sir Eggsby. Robin will honestly kill me if you have."

But Steve knows he hasn't, can see Billy fidgeting with the keys in his hands, his fingers flicking at the rubber chicken keychain. Knows that’s Billy’s stalling for a reason.

"It, uh, didn't feel right to go in without you," the words are mumbled, but Steve can feel the emotion behind them. He gets it. It feels like something they need to do together. He takes the keys from Billy’s then reaches back to hold his hand. 

"Don't think I can quite carry you over the threshold baby, but hopefully this is close enough."

They walk through the front door together.

Steve can feel Billy take a deep breath beside him. He squeezes his hand, draws him in even closer.

“Hey honey, we’re home,” Steve can’t help it. Has been saying the line in his head for the last half hour of the drive. Billy knocks his head against Steve’s shoulder, “Fucking cheeseball,” he grins, but Steve can see the way his eyes are shining. They walk hand in hand through the house, Billy taking in the few framed photos still left on the walls, on the scattered books left on the shelves- tracing his fingers over the spines, and murmuring the titles, “ _ Giovanni’s Room, Maurice, City of Night… _ yeah Stevie, your uncle was…..” he turns to Steve, “I wish I’d known him.” 

Steve smiles at him, squeezes his hand.

“He’d have loved you, Bill. Woulda probably tried to steal you away from me.”

Billy smirks, “Man of good taste, clearly.” Steve pulls him closer, draws him in for a kiss that soon becomes handsy and heated. Steve hates to stop it, but he knows that one of them has to, otherwise he knows exactly how the day is going to unfold,

“C’mon let’s get unpacked, before we get any more distracted.”  
  


Billy lugs a few crates out of the Camaro, a duffle bag slung around his shoulders. He drops them all in the living room, then strides over to Steve's car and starts helping him unload.

Before too long, most of the downstairs rooms are filled and the car is empty. 

Steve wipes the sweat from his brow, winks when he sees Billy watching the action hungrily.

"You need some help with the rest of yours?" he asks

"Nah, I'm all done," Billy shrugs

"But where's all your...stuff?” Steve looks at the small pile of Billy’s crates on the floor, filled with a collection of tapes and books, some toiletries. A floaty yellow scarf wrapped around a Beach Boys record. His eyes scan around, as if expecting more things to pop up out of nowhere. 

"This is my stuff." Billy's eyes are hard and Steve can see the walls building, can see the way Billy is trying to shut the conversation down. But he can’t help himself, it doesn’t make  _ sense _ . He knows that Billy has more than this, hell- his jacket collection would probably take up a duffle bag on its own. He tries again,

“But your weights? Your-”

"Neil didn't exactly throw me a going away party when I said I was leaving.” Billy is smiling but there’s no humour in his eyes, “No goodbye kisses and a casserole for the road. It was more a kind of ‘grab what I can and get outta there, don't let the door hit me in the ass on the way out’ send off."

And Steve's stomach sours at that, hadn’t realised it’d been that bad. 

"Shit, well we can always...we can go back later? When he's at work? Or get Max to-"

Billy shakes his head, "You really think he's gonna hang on to any of my shit? It's trash day tomorrow Harrington, that stuff's gonna be long gone."

And Billy just seems so… resigned. So matter-of-fact about his possessions, his things, his memories, being tossed away like that. Steve reaches out an arm, and Billy leans into it. 

“It’s fine Steve, I got the car, I got you. ‘S’all I need.”

And Steve just hopes he’ll be enough.

****

They get started on the bedroom- Billy commenting that it’ll be the room they spend most of their time in anyway, so best get it sorted first. It’s not a bad room, light and airy, pale blue walls with some nondescript landscape paintings. Billy’s in the middle of putting some fresh sheets onto the bed when Steve wrinkles his nose.

“We need a new bed,” he folds his arms, “It's gonna feel weird, sleeping in here.”

Billy smirks, “Oh yeah, I bet this mattress has seen a  _ lot _ of action. I saw those photos downstairs, your uncle was hot.”

Steve is grimacing, “Ugh, why would you say that? Yeah, ugh, definitely a new bed. I don’t wanna be thinking about...about that.” He shivers in disgust, and Billy rolls his eyes.

“We can’t just get a new bed Steve.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, and Billy shakes his head,

“Because, well, because it’s not like a carton of milk. We can’t just stroll down to the shop and get one.”

“Why?” Steve asks again,

“You’re like a toddler,” Billy smooths down the duvet he’s just finished changing, and Steve launches himself onto it, pulling Billy down with him and wrinkling it back up instantly.

“No, listen, why? Because we’re adults and we have money. And we have a house. And there’s a furniture shop on that strip we passed, remember? And it’s open. And it sells beds. So we _can_ just go get a bed. For our house. Today. ”

Billy is grinning now, pulling Steve close,

“Ok, pretty boy yeah you got me, technically we  _ can  _ buy a bed. But they’re not gonna deliver it today- so unless you fancy carrying it home for two miles, then we won’t  _ get it _ today.”

Steve pouts a little at that, sulking, until Billy bashes him gently with a pillow.

“Hey!” Steve pushes back, “Maybe we could go look though?” he says, voice dropping low into that purr that he knows Billy can’t resist. “Test out a few mattresses. See if we can find one sturdy enough to cope with what I’m planning to do to you.” 

Steve reaches out to run a hand along Billy’s chest, fully intending on not leaving the bed- let alone the house- at all for the next few hours, but Billy is already springing up, pulling Steve along with him,

“Alright then Steve, but I’m honestly not sure there’s such a thing. Hey, you think we could get a water bed?” 

And Steve’s not entirely sure it’s such a good idea any more. 

They get somewhat waylaid on the way to the furniture store. Billy insists on walking, argues that a mattress isn’t gonna fit in either of their cars anyway, so they may as well get a feel for the neighbourhood. And then he’s adamant that he knows a shortcut. Says he has a  _ feeling _ . Steve tries to argue that Billy’s never been here before, and that it might be more sensible to stick to the road- the way they know, but Billy just scoffs and leads him in the opposite direction.

They don’t end up finding the store.

They do end up finding the park.

And some peacocks.  
  


Billy jumps when he hears the first squawk, some weird hooting caw.

“What the fuck?” he yelps, spinning round to find the source of it and coming face to face with a large, shouty peacock.

Billy just stands with his mouth open for a few moments, before turning to Steve with a look of absolute wonder on his face,

“What kinda fancy ass neighbourhood is this? We're in the gay district now right? Cause this is the gayest fucking park.”

Steve just looks at him in confusion, and Billy gestures to the bird.

“Stevie, most parks have pigeons. Maybe doves if you’re in the rich bit. We have peacocks, that’s gotta mean we’re in the gay bit.”

“Are peacocks gay?” Steve is grinning, loving how passionate Billy is getting about his own dumb argument,

“Steve, honestly, they're the gayest animal, just look at 'em. The men all prettied up for each other.” He lets out a chuckle, “And they've got cock in their name.”

Steve can’t help but agree, risking a quick squeeze of Billy’s hand as they stand and watch the peacock scratching in the dirt, his feather splayed out behind him.

“Reminds me of you,” Steve mutters, “Showing off like that. Remember when you first came to Hawkins, that’s exactly what you were like.” Steve knocks his hips against Billy’s, “All strutting around getting everyone’s attention. Plus you were  _ loud _ . My God, you never shut up!”

Billy nudges him back, an elbow to Steve’s ribs- a fleeting touch. 

“It worked though didn’t it,” he smiles, “Got me the prettiest bird in the place.”  They smile at each other, fingertips brushing, not even noticing as the peacock waddles away.

It becomes their tradition, every night after dinner, to go for a walk around the park. 

Some nights they jog together, a few laps around the pond, with Billy always pushing for one more than Steve can comfortably manage. 

One night they’re walking together, heads close as they chat quietly, when they see another couple coming towards them. Another two men. Hand in hand.

Billy stops talking, and Steve can tell he’s not sure whether to look away, whether to stare, whether to smile or wave at them or cry.

It’s the same way he gets when he sees the rainbow stickers in the shop windows, when he saw the bookshop with  _ Windy City Times _ proudly on display.

The next night, Steve lets his hand bump against Billy’s. Feels his heart skip when Billy reaches out to entwine their fingers. To press their palms together. Undeniably.

They stay like that for the rest of the walk. 

The next night, Billy grabs hold of Steve’s hand as soon as they’re though the park gates.

There's a bench they find on their fifth or sixth visit, it's not in an overly popular spot, it's under a tree so it’s usually covered in leaves in the autumn or splattered with bird shit the rest of the time. Plus it’s set too far away from the path to be convenient- but Billy likes it best because the grouchy peacock tends to sit near it. He likes to bring along a crust or two of bread and sit on the bench, trying in vain to lure the bird nearer. He’s got some crazy idea that he might be able to tame it, might be able to get it eating out of his hand if he waits long enough. 

Steve thinks that, if anyone’s gonna manage it, it’ll be Billy.

One night, Steve brings along a penknife, keeps it hidden in his pocket and while Billy is going for his extra lap around the pond, Steve quickly carves B&S into the wood, outlines it with a messy heart.

Billy kisses him as soon as he notices it.   
He doesn’t even look around first.

A few weeks later they  _ finally _ get their new bed delivered. 

They’d spent ages choosing it together. Billy hadn’t said much at first, had stood back and watched Steve bobbing through the store, eagerly dashing between the beds- throwing himself down onto mattresses and then shaking his head or giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

By the ninth bed, and Billy’s ninth shrug, Steve had gone to him, head down and voice quiet. Had asked if he was OK. And Billy had been just as quiet as he mumbled that he didn’t see why it mattered what he liked. It was  _ Steve’s _ house, he should choose.

And Steve had felt like an absolute idiot.

Because he hadn’t explained. Had totally forgotten in the rush of everything.

“Bill, you know that’s not true right. You know it’s our house?”

He’d seen Billy start to protest, knew exactly what he was gonna say and headed it off at the first pass. “No, it is legally  _ our  _ house. I, uh, I put your name on the….whatever it was I signed. I just….just in case. I think maybe you probably shoulda signed something too, but they kinda rushed it all through when they saw it was my uncle. Think they felt sorry for me. So, uh, yeah. It’s in your name too. It’s ours.”

Steve remembered the excitement he’d felt when he did it. The thrill when he saw the final documents all printed out. When he saw his name and Billy’s there together, all official- the two of them tied together. 

And Billy had frozen. Has just gone utterly, entirely still. Steve had been terrified, wondered if he’d gone too far. Wondered if it was too much for Billy, too formal, too...real.

But then Billy had beamed, one of the biggest, brightest smiles that Steve had ever seen. And he’d grabbed Steve’s hand, just for a moment, just long enough to him to drag him over to the largest, plushiest bed in the place and fling them both onto it with a laugh.

And, finally, finally, the bed arrived. Unloaded by two delivery men who raised their eyebrows but didn’t say a word when Billy directed them into the master bedroom and Steve had been in there to tell them exactly where to put it. 

Steve’s particularly pleased with the wrought iron headboard. Billy hadn’t been a fan initially, but he’s soon converted when he realises that all those ‘weird curly bits’ just meant that he now has a lot of ways to get creative with his silk ties and Steve’s wrists. 

They give it a thorough test. 

Their house is slowly starting to come together, starting to feel more like a home. Their home. The new bed helps, as does the second-hand set of weights in the corner of the spare bedroom. Steve had found them at a yard sale, had managed to load them all into his BMW and then utterly failed at lifting them back out when he got home. Billy had nearly broken a rib from laughing at his efforts, before getting himself nice and sweaty taking them all upstairs by himself.    
They’d given the bed another test after that.

But it’s the kitchen that Steve likes the most. He’d given Billy full reign over it, had handed over a credit card and told him to go mad in the department store in the city. He smiled to himself when Billy spent a good twenty minutes comparing pans, walking around tossing imaginary pancakes. Had pretty much bought everything that Billy looked at for longer than a few seconds, every utensil and piece of crockery and a whole new shelf of recipe books. And it was worth it, Steve thinks, worth every single penny, because Billy makes the best damn meals that he’s ever tasted. And whenever Billy’s cooking, when he’s bopping his head to the radio and chopping some vegetables and the sunlight’s catching in his curls and on his tanned shoulders, while Steve’s sitting at the table reading the paper, or just watching, just watching his gorgeous golden boyfriend so absolutely in his element, well that’s when Steve truly feels at home. 

There’s only one thing in the kitchen that Steve had any say in whatsoever, and it just so happens to be Billy’s absolute favourite item in the place.

It’s a silly little gift, something that Steve couldn’t resist.   
Knew he had to do it as soon as he saw the kitschy pottery place in the neighbourhood. The one with the pretty hand-painted mugs in the window and the pottery classes for beginners. 

Steve made it over a few weeks, with a lot of help from Gloria and Kath, the two women who own the place, and he casually handed it over to Billy one morning- already filled with coffee just the way he likes it.

Billy had raised an eyebrow at it as soon as Steve placed it down in front of him. Took a gulp of coffee and then took in the slightly lopsided mug it came in, painted with an equally lopsided design of a peacock- one eye larger than the other and a few dribbles where the paint had run slightly. But it’s the caption that made him laugh, made him spit the coffee out and laugh until tears were running down his face. 

‘Behold my Magnificent Cock’.

And it’s not exactly neat- the handwriting is unmistakably Steve’s, and the letters of ‘magnificent’ are kinda smushed together at the end.

But like everything in their house it’s perfect.

Like everything, it's _theirs_. 

  
  
  



End file.
